Adding the R
by Lito Kid Skullington
Summary: dead
1. Meeting A Familiar Face

Just a note: I've only seen the episode, "Son of Nergal" once, and that was way back in July. I saw about 6 minutes of it on Shocktober, and completely missed when I think it was replayed on Saturday. So, some of this might not be totally accurate, as I have a terrible memory. Also, I am cursed with the Sickness. Headcolds, gotta love them. So, forgive me if this sounds awful. I, myself, think I overkilled with my limited vocabulary. Trying to hard, I suppose. Stupid me. Trying to sound all smart. *smack* Curse the brainmeats. They reek of idiot. . .ness. . . yes.  
  
Anyways, you don't want to listen to me. You want to read the cruddiness that is this story. Or maybe you want to hit the back button and escape before you catch my stupid. Either way. Here's the shit.  
  
--~~*~~--  
  
The son of Nergal sighed heavily, his breath forming a small cloud of mist before disintegrating into the cool fall air. He kicked absentmindedly at the colorful array of leaves that littered the streets, still soggy from the early morning dew. Hands shoved deep within his coat pockets, he shuffled along, shoulders hunched around his chin.  
  
He didn't want to attend human's pathetic excuse for an educational system. He found it quite pointless, the information received in those cursed buildings trivial and, for the most part, unnecessary for future activities. Those who delivered the endless drawl of trite lessons were often cruel and impatient, stereotyping all those forced to attend as simpletons unworthy of the "impeccable" knowledge they bore. They often reeked of things resurrected from the dead, as if they'd been teaching minors for thousands of years, punishment for a crime they committed in biblical times.  
  
Those children who were forced to attend were no better than the teachers. Most of them were malicious little fiends, seeking pleasure from other's pain, always eager to tear their fellow classmates down so others wouldn't notice their own flaws. He was often the target of their cruelty, because of the way he looked or the withdrawn attitude he bore. Though he had the same basic structure as they did, thanks to the bodily appearance he stole, they still managed to find faults in his every action and attribute.  
  
"I have no friends to protect me from these human demons," he muttered, slender eyebrows drawing down over his framed lime-green eyes. "I've frightened away all possible companionship." His voice faltered, and he had to squeeze his eyes shut to prevent tears from falling. He recalled his actions at winter camp with much regret. His desperate yearning for popularity turned on him, and the result was quite the opposite of what he desired.  
  
He hadn't meant for everything to turn out so wrong. He hadn't meant to strike fear into the hearts of his classmates. He'd only wanted acceptance. But now, it seemed he'd always be an outcast, hated and feared by humanity. His own parents either didn't know, or didn't care about the severity of his problem. They were far too wrapped up in each other to do much of anything with him, their own flesh and blood.  
  
His footsteps slowed, and Nergal Junior lifted his eyes towards the tall brick building of hell. It was here he was sentenced to suffer, for seven more years of endless hurt. Filled with grief and spite, he sullenly turned, and trudged up the leaf-sprinkled sidewalk to the steps. He could hear the whispers of the children, staring and mocking him from the grass on either side of the walkway.  
  
He winced, lowering his head and shoving his hands deeper within his coat pocket. Raucous laughter erupted from the bike racks aside the steps, voices proclaiming in mock fear, "Don't mess with him! He'll turn you into a snowman!" He quickened his pace, practically tripping over his own feet in the rush. Tapping hastily up the stairs, he trotted towards the double doors, eager to enter and escape from the stares of his peers. Unfortunately, his haste filled him with too much adrenaline, and momentum disabled him from avoiding the one bursting out of the building.  
  
White-hot pain shot like lightning through his face as he met with the swinging iron door. Junior fell back, clutching a now-bloodied nose and cracking glasses, letting out a soft wail of anguish. Stumbling and drunken with pain, he struggled to compose himself, his legs turning to rubber beneath him. As he lurched away from the swinging arc of the door, his heavily-booted foot missed the first step, and he found himself sprawling backwards onto the concrete below. He hit the ground harder than he ever expected to, breath forced out of his lungs in a gush. The sky blurred and spun above him, his world a spiral of hurt.  
  
Laughter exploded around him, seemingly amplified in his throbbing head, and he felt hot tears stinging his eyes. He wanted to curl up and disappear forever. Embarrassment burned his face, his already deflated self esteem taking a plunge into an unknown low. Just as he felt he as about to break down into open sobs, he felt someone rush to his side.  
  
"Oh geez! I'm soooo sorry!" a voice sounded from above him, "I had no idea you were there! I was just so filled with the HAPPY!!! The nurse just finished fixing up my nose after that stupid drinking fountain tried to eat it, and I guess --"  
  
The voice faltered, and Junior stiffly turned his head towards its source. Tears and pain blurred his vision, but the muddle of fleshy hues before him struck a familiar chord. Where had he seen his person before? It seemed the feeling of previous acquaintance was mutual.  
  
"Heeey. . . don't I know you from somewhere?"  
  
The son of Nergal lifted a shaky hand to his broken glasses, pulling them gingerly from his face. He rubbed his free hand over his eyes, forcing away the fog. Returning his now-misshapen spectacles to his eyes, he regarded the person before him. A gasp escaped his throat as he realized just who it was he was speaking to.  
  
"B-Billy!"  
  
--~~*~~--  
  
*abrupt halt of the gibberish*  
  
--~~*~~--  
  
That's the first chapter. Yep. I think it stinketh. Maybe the next chapter'll be better. Sorry it kinda just. . . cuts off. I'm tired of writing. You can probably tell. The last ten paragraphs were all rushed. Grr. My head throbs. Forgive me and shut up.  
  
or review. Review's good too. My air-qualities right for burning, so flame away. That made no sense, did it? Bah. I need a cough drop. 


	2. The SadJuice Flows

Thanks to you three who reviewed. I really appreciate them. Especially Mandy of Endsville. Your comments were exceptionally helpful, and I took your advice and tried to add a bit more dialogue. It's kinda hard, because Junior THINKS SO FRICKIN' MUCH!!! GEEZE!! Sorry. It's true, though. Billy does help a lot, though. Yay, Billy! *hugs him, rips out Jr.'s brain so he can't think anymore* Oh, and I knew someone was going to say stuff about the flame thing. I'm in Cali too. We're all gonna fry like potato chips. Whoo! Not to poke fun at the burned cities. I feel your pain. *sagely nod*  
  
Yes, well. On with the story. . . thing.  
  
--~~*~~--  
  
"B-Billy!"  
  
A huge grin split across the Billy's face, and his hand plunged deep into his jeans.  
  
"That's what it says on my UNDERWEEEAAARRR!" the large-nosed one sang, stretching his tighties into view. Junior cracked a nervous smile, partly due to Billy's disturbing actions.  
  
The main reason Junior was so ill at ease was because of the events that occurred at the cursed winter camp. He vividly remembered, oh-so-unlike the author, how he attacked the boy and stole his identity, as he had done with the others. But, unlike the more self-absorbed creeps at the camp, he recalled how Billy had been willing to accept him, at least before he dropped his human disguise. Billy's good-natured attitude softened his heart, and though he still icily-mummified the kid, Junior could not get him off his mind. Even as he walked up the steps to Billy's home, prepared to take on his macabre life, the son of Nergal thought of him, overwhelmed by guilt.  
  
Which is the main reason why he confessed to the deed, and lead Billy's strange friends back to his "burial" sight. Of course, he was dead. If waking up in an airtight case of ice didn't kill him, pneumonia and frostbite did. It didn't do much to help Junior's conscience, but Billy's skeleton friend was able to chip him out, and resurrect him. Though he was still unconscious throughout the ride back home, Nergal Jr. was convinced he could hear Billy scorning him, hating him. It made him want to die. It was so much more painful than anything Mandy did.  
  
"Heeey!" the loud drawl of a voice broke Junior's train of thought, and he turned his attention once more to the one that was opening those guilty wounds. For a moment, no one spoke, and the son of Nergal began to feel terribly uncomfortable under the scrutinizing gaze of Billy's beady eyes. But finally, the capped boy broke the silence.  
  
"How'd you know my name? Are you a psycho?"  
  
Junior started to form a response, but was abruptly cut off by another voice.  
  
"Though I'm sure the word you're searching for is 'psychic', Billy. . . you can't be too far off in your error."  
  
Junior's heart rate tripled at the sound of the cold monotone, and he slowly turned his gaze around Billy's egghead to the school doors. His worst fears were confirmed. There she stood, the hatred all but glowing around her. Mandy.  
  
A few slow, deliberate strides brought the stoic girl down the steps to Billy's side. Nergal squee-d involuntarily, recoiling from her presence. A swift hand caught his collar, however, halting his retreat. She dragged him in close, piercing eyes boring hatred into his own.  
  
"Why are you here, Junior?" she hissed, dark eyes searching. He let out an incomprehensible gurgle, his tongue like a lump of dough in his mouth. Through the corner of his eye, the son of Nergal saw the cloud of confusion lift from Billy's face.  
  
"Junior!" he cried, throwing his hands into the air, "You're the kid from winter camp! I remember you now! You--!" Billy's face faltered, his sentence becoming choppy. "Killed. . . every. . . one. . ." He sank into silence.  
  
"That's right. Even you, Billy. Were it not for Grim, this little fuck would've ended your life permanently." Mandy remained poised and immovable as a statue, her hand like a vice at Junior's throat. "I'll ask you again. Why are you here? Do you expect to be accepted with open arms after all the crap you've done? Do you expect everyone to just. . .forgive and forget? " Her voice was hard and sharp as a butcher's knife, and just as painful. Every biting word cut through Junior like a razor, ripped him apart just as she had done to Mr. Bonkers.  
  
"I-I. . . I don't--" his voice has choked, and he could feel the hot wetness of tears on his cheeks. "I-I. . ." Junior broke down into silent, shuddering sobs.  
  
The sharp shriek of the school bell rang throughout the yard, breaking through the tense quiet. As if snapped from a dream, all the students that had gathered around to stare began filing into class. Mandy glared upon the crying boy a moment longer, mask of ice hiding her disgust.  
  
"I hate you," she said, freeing her hand from his coat. Turning on her heel, she marched up the stairs, and through the double doors. Billy hesitated, glancing back and forth between the two, brain meats frying with the extreme pressure of decision. Hovering for a moment longer, Billy finally turned and dashed into class, not wanting to be tardy the first day.  
  
The son of Nergal sank to his knees and wept.  
  
--~~*~~--  
  
*insert clever stoping message*  
  
--~~*~~--  
  
Ouch. I kinda made Mandy sound like the antagonist, didn't I? She's not supposed to be, I don't think. She's just holding a little grude. ^_~. I'm still working on her character. Forgive me. I didn't mean to make her such a bitch.  
  
And I'm pretty sure Billy would've stayed with Jr., because when Mandy made Spurg cry, he ran off and stayed with him. But. . . I got lazy. *look of shame* Billy staying would've meant more writing. No stopping point. And I is tired. So. Yep. OOC moment. Sorry.  
  
Poor Junior. I still loves you, baby. *attempts to hug, gets shocked by a tentacle*  
  
Jergal Jr.: If you really did love me, you wouldn't do all this shit to my poor, angst-juicy self!  
  
~fade out with screams of pain and coldness~  
  
(don't forget to review. I need help. A lot. You can probably tell. Grr.) 


	3. Meeting Piff

Sorry it took a little while. I've been busy. But, if all goes well, I should have three more days off! Hopefully I don't get sick on my wonderfully lenghty weekend. Eh. I should be able to update again soon, IF all goes well.  
  
Mandy of Endsville:: Actually, I don't know where I'm going with this story myself. I'm kinda making it up as I go along. =P Glad I was kinda in- character with Mandy. I still don't like how she turned out. But, eh.  
  
crket2:: That's Miss Nice Person to you! Curse my masculine. . .ness. *cough* But, anyways. I'm happy I helped un. . . confuse you. Curses. I'm incohorent again. This chapter's gonna suck.  
  
Bah. I'm tired.  
  
--~~*~~--  
  
Junior glanced around the nurse's office, the almost blindingly bright light stinging his eyes, which were still quite tender from crying.  
  
Many brightly colored posters adorned the walls, each bearing a clever, motivating little catchphrase meant to inspire all that read it to become more positive and school-spirited. He read these with bitterness in his heart, thinking up a dark, cynical response to each one. It was somewhat amusing to his dry humor, as it seemed nothing could convince him to show pride in this hell called education.  
  
Many off-white curtains hung almost artfully from the ceiling, their flowing fabrics brushing against the ground, meant to provide privacy between the sick patients as they rested on the beds. Junior was perched on the very edge of one of the three beds, which were ironically covered in a sheet of butcher paper. Not a very comforting attribute of the room, especially for a sick child, but it did protect the mattress from germs.  
  
The thermometer felt foreign beneath his olive-colored tongue, and it took all his willpower to keep himself from spitting it out. He had no idea how his current body temperature had any relation to why he was crying, but Nurse Primbroke wouldn't stop nagging until he obeyed. She watched him from a nearby chair, eyes filled with concern.  
  
Awkwardly cradling the rest of the machinery in his lap, Junior waited. He could see the numbers slowly rising on the little box. They steadily climbed into the 90s before the cube let out a long beep, indicating it had reached the proper temperature. The large-breasted woman practically leapt from her chair, all but tackling him to read the little screen.  
  
"Thank God," she sighed in a gush of relief, "Normal."  
  
The son of Nergal eagerly spat the disgustingly cold stick from his mouth He regarded it for a moment before setting it aside, glancing up at the heavily-make upped woman.  
  
"I told you I wasn't sick," he said softly as she plucked up the machine, quickly disposing of the little plastic cover used for sterility. She smiled gently at him as she returned the thermometer to its shelf.  
  
"And believe me, I'm very glad to hear that." A look of concern crossed Nurse Primbroke's face, and she carefully seated herself beside him with a crunch of butcher paper. "But tell me, lil' pumpkin," she began, placing a cautious hand on Junior's shoulder, "Why were you crying?"  
  
He sank slightly beneath her touch, recoiling farther over on the bed, "I was sad," he answered curtly, obviously stalling. She didn't miss a beat.  
  
"And why were you said?"  
  
He stared at his hands, clasped tightly in his lap, pressing wrinkles into his uniform. "Because. . ." he drawled slowly, mind racing for a response, other than the truth. "I. . . I fell down the stairs." Nurse Primbroke blinked, a bit taken back. "It hurt." he added, regarding her out of the corner of his eye.  
  
There was a brief lapse of silence, before the large woman responded, "Is that all?" she asked softly.  
  
"Yes," Junior lied. He fidgeted beneath the weight of her comforting arm. "You're hurting my back."  
  
The hand was quickly removed. "Well, if that's all." the nurse rose to her feet with a grunt, "I suppose you can go back to class. It should be just about break time." She shuffled over to the refrigerator, and for a moment Junior thought she was going to forget he was there and start eating. But she went for the freezer, and pulled out a bag of ice. "Here you go, sweetie," she said with a kind, pink-lipped smile. "This should help reduce any swelling or bruises,"  
  
He accepted the bag, putting on what he hoped was a grateful smile. "Thanks." he said quietly, pressing the bag to the back of his head. He hissed slightly from the sudden change of temperature. He never really liked the cold. It was a weakness most likely developed from being raised in the earth's core.  
  
Dropping lightly from the bed, he slipped out the door. Nurse Primbroke sighed, closing the freezer gently. "I hope he's okay," she said to herself.  
  
--~~*~~--  
  
It seemed from the moment Junior's foot hit the cement outside the office, the bell rang. Its shrill scream tore at his ears, which had become accustomed to the quiet of the nurse's room, and he stumbled slightly. Did they really have to make those cursed bells so loud? It was highly unlikely anyone was going to miss hearing them if they were just a little bit quieter.  
  
He turned the corner sullenly, and came face-to-face with a multitude spilling from the classrooms. He stumbled back, startled by the unreasonable amount of kids rushing to the playground area for recess. They swiftly overtook him, and he was forced towards the playground as if pushed by a tidal wave.  
  
He sighed and trudged miserably with the throngs of children, noting bitterly that each one of them seemed to take extra care to crash into him. He finally pushed through the masses of hungry, inconsiderate bodies, lurching awkwardly into an empty corner alongside the lockers. There he huddled, waiting for a break in the crowd, where it wouldn't be so closed, so noisy.  
  
Junior realized with quiet disappointment that, somewhere in that sea of children, he lost his ice pack. It had helped, if only a little, and he appreciated that. The nurse was a kind woman, and he almost regretted lying to her. She'd probably be the most understanding person he knew. His parents wouldn't care. They'd dismiss his problems as a normal development and tell him they would pass.  
  
'Maybe I should go confess to her,' he thought, seeing the rushing river was beginning to sputter out, 'it's not like I have anything else to do.'  
  
He turned back towards Primbroke's office, and was about to return to it when he noticed someone approaching him out of the corner of his eye. It was a boy, clad in all black (despite the strict uniform rule); sunglasses perched arrogantly on the bridge of his long, thin nose. Junior swallowed hard, and began walking, hoping the guy would think he hadn't noticed him.  
  
'Just what I need. A spooky Gothic who thinks I'm a poseur or something,' he thought bitterly, quickening his pace.  
  
"Wait." It was a soft, abrupt command by a voice that didn't match its bearer. There was a certain tone about the squeaky voice that struck a chord with Junior, and he slowed, despite his overall suspicion of the dark child.  
  
Slow, deliberate steps brought the boy up to the son of Nergal, and he soon discovered he had to decelerate even further so the Goth could keep up.  
  
"I saw you this morning," the boy said carefully, seeming to take a moment of consideration between each word. Junior raised an eyebrow. An odd statement. However, he sensed no cruelty or teasing behind the words. Rather, there was almost a hint of sadness, a mixture of pity and . . . something else.  
  
Silence fell over them, and Junior was unsure whether he was supposed to respond or if the boy was merely going over his next choice of words. Just as he was about to crack beneath the uncomfortable thickness of the silence, the boy began again.  
  
"I saw you this morning with Mandy,"  
  
Another long pause followed. By then, they had slowed to a stop near a drinking fountain, and Junior was tempted to consume the disgusting toilet- flavored water, just to have /something/ to fill the sudden hush with. The boy was staring blankly at him from behind the green tinted glasses, and Junior absently noted his eyes were dark and beady, much like Billy's.  
  
Thin lips pursed, and the boy averted those small eyes, choosing to stare at a suddenly intriguing splotch of something on the wall. "I . . . I don't know why she's mad at you," he started softly, each word seemingly yanked painfully from his being. He paused for a moment longer before he continued, "But you're not alone."  
  
Junior cleared his throat, unsure of what this dark boy was getting at. "She does seem to hate. . . everyone," he said carefully, all-too-aware of how stupid he sounded. A soft sigh escaped the boy's lips.  
  
"You don't know the half of it." He said mournfully, carefully-sculpted eyebrows knitting together with sorrow. He looked back at the son of Nergal, his eyes hidden behind a thick shine on his glasses, but most likely filled with hurt. "Piff." he said suddenly, and Junior noticed he was missing some teeth, small stubs of white growing into their place.  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"Billy calls me Piff,"  
  
"I-I'm Junior."  
  
A porcelain-white hand darted out, taking his own into it.  
  
"We need to talk."  
  
--~~*~~--  
  
Bum bum bum. . .  
  
--~~*~~--  
  
. . . that was long and painful. Curse me. Ah, well. I ask for feedback and advise now. Oh-so-desperately-needed advice.  
  
~Holy fork, their school doesn't have stairs. And it's blue, not brick. *whack whack* What school was I thinking of? Am I a dumbass? (I know the answer to this one. . . )  
  
~Is that the nurse's name? Primbroke? Billy says it too fast, and I kept forgetting it.  
  
~Do you think the uniform rule only applies to the first couple weeks/months of school? or maybe they have a casual Friday sorta deal? because in "Educating Grim", they're wearing the blue and white uniforms, but in, "Crushed" (which was supposed to be aired on V. day) they're wearing their regular clothes. Just wondering. It'd be helpful if you'd give your opinion.  
  
~Piff. I need help with Piff. I kinda felt like he'd be a little more comfortable with Junior, since they're both really quiet, but I still think he talked a bit too much. Curse me and my weak grasp of characters.  
  
I think that's it. I gratefully accept any helpful responses. But, if you want to ignore this, and just flatter me with stuff saying how good this is, or just flat out not review, that's fine too. The story kinda sucks. I need to put aside a specific time to write, and STOP GETTING SO DAMN LAZY! It cuts all my chapters short.  
  
This note is way too long. Going to attempt to sleep now.  
  
Z? 


	4. Betrayal and More Sad Juice

Well, after much consideration, here it is. The next chapter.  
  
The reason for the long delay is not only laziness and writer's block. I've been thinking. *gasp!* Yes, it is the apocalypse. I've run through several drafts of this, mostly in my head, a select few on paper. And, I've settled on this, my first impulse. I'm really sorry if it offends some people, but in this chapter, there is a very brief moment of slash. Male/male. It's nothing too serious, or even graphic. But, it's there. And, it inflicts a reaction on one of the participants.  
  
If you're already disgusted, I suggest you skip this chapter. I'll write a brief summary of what went on at the bottom of the chapter. There may be a few light references of it in future chapters, but nothing more graphic than this. And this is just pathetic. Eh. It's just a precaution, I'm not sure how open-minded Grim Adventure's audiences are. Might make a few uncomfortable. I dunno. There is a PG-13 label on this. . .  
  
But anyways. . . yeah. If you feel you can't take it, just scroll to the bottom. I'll explain. Or, just completely skip this chapter. Wait for an update. OR! Stop reading altogether. I really don't mind. This is how I think it should go. It's not a romance, as you will see. It's very brief! But it does have a purpose.  
  
Okay. Enough of that. Geeze. I hate long author's notes, don't you? God. . .  
  
On with the fic.  
  
--~~*~~--  
  
A porcelain-white hand darted out, taking his own into it.  
  
"We need to talk."  
  
Junior was mildly surprised at Piff's boldness. Not too many people would willingly take the hand of one with so many dark rumors floating around about him. Sort of a 'guilty by association' thing. It was a little comforting to know that this boy was willing to sacrifice social status to speak with him.  
  
So, the son of Nergal decided to trust him. He carefully closed his fingers over Piff's, lacing the two pairs of digits neatly together. The smallest of smiles tugged at the corners of Piff's mouth, and he turned to the playground doors.  
  
"Follow me," he said, starting into a slow trot. Junior did as he was instructed, though it was terribly hard to keep from walking ahead. Each step the pale boy took was seemingly measured, slow and deliberate in every stride, as if they were counts in a dance. There was a certain grace about his gait, like watching a stork walk across a pond. Except slower.  
  
They walked through the doors onto the playground, where a sudden rush of blazing sunlight greeted them. Junior squinted, the green shadows of impaired vision playing in front of him, and for a moment he depended completely on Piff to keep him walking in the proper direction.  
  
As he was lead blindly through the playgrounds, many thoughts floated around in Junior's head, a great number of them pertaining to this Piff. His gut was twisting around in itself, tangling knots into his stomach. Something didn't feel right. Though it felt nice to be so openly accepted by this dark boy, he had to be suspicious of his intentions. What exactly was it he wanted to talk about? Mandy? Surely there wasn't much left to say about her.  
  
But then, what else could it be? A naïve thought, but maybe Piff wanted to get better acquainted. Maybe . . . he wanted to be . . . friends. Junior felt warmth fill his chest, spreading throughout his whole body like the blood pumped from his heart. Friends. He liked the thought of that. Finally, someone special to mend the lonely gap in his life. Someone to keep him company when times got hard, someone to shield him from the ignorant cruelty of mankind. Someone to talk to, someone who would listen. Finally. A friend.  
  
Through the warm glow, Junior still felt his pessimistic instincts telling him something was amiss, but he pushed those thoughts hastily to the back of his mind. He didn't want to believe there was anything wrong with Piff. He wanted to trust him, to believe that the little Gothic child truly accepted him. He wanted to keep this fuzzy, cozy feeling. The feeling of being wanted. It made him feel . . . important. Worthwhile.  
  
Junior's train of thought broke off as they slowed to a stop. He briskly glanced around, taking in the shaded area. It was beneath one of the eaves of the school, behind the cafeteria. In front of them loomed a huge wall, boxing around an area meant for garbage cans. Piff tugged his hand away, stalking forward. He glanced back and forth behind his glasses, and then made a swift motion for Junior to come closer. Junior obeyed, curious as to how the purple-haired one planned to get inside.  
  
It was so simple, Junior almost missed it. With one swift swing of his purple boots, Piff kicked off the bolt holding the hinges in place, and the door swung open, the chain and padlock on the opposite side serving as its new hinges. Junior gagged, a hand flying to his nose. The sickeningly sweet mixture of old garbage and incense assaulted his senses, burning his nostrils deep inside.  
  
Piff's hand caught his free one, and he hesitantly allowed himself to be led into the smelly boxed-off area. Darkly outlined eyes snapped to them as they entered. All the people gathered in the area formed a dark mass of black clothing and exotically styled hair, sticks of incense burning in each of their hands. The cluster of black slowly circled around them, closing them in. Junior began to feel very anxious, claustrophobia and dizziness enveloping him.  
  
What was he doing? He didn't belong here. Not among these people.  
  
Their dark eyes watched them expectantly, piercing and cold. No emotions played across the sickly pale faces, all as still as if chiseled out of stone. Junior turned carefully to Piff, about to ask him what was going on. But he never got the chance.  
  
Before their eyes even met, the son of Nergal found his lips pressed firmly against Piff's. A thin hand tangled itself in the hair at the base of his skull, the other wrapping tightly around his waist. His eyes wide and disbelieving, Junior attempted to pull away, mumbling protests against the other's warm, dry lips. But he couldn't tear away. Piff's grip was surprisingly strong, unyielding to his weak attempts to escape.  
  
His mind was a whirlwind of thoughts. He couldn't decipher one from the other. He felt disgust rising in him. What in Hell was Piff thinking? Was this some kind of trick? It was revolting! They were both male. Judging by the many pairings on television shows and portrayed as the main plot in movies, couples of the same sex, mainly male couplings, were very taboo. It was weak! It was wrong. It was . . .  
  
Warm. A sense of security flooded Junior's being. Was this the ultimate sign of acceptance? He didn't know much about the culture of the Gothics. Not the ones of today, anyways. But it was obviously what this group consisted of, judging by the dark shades and stoic expressions. Was this their way of welcoming him? Dare he say. accepting him?  
  
Suddenly, this kiss he was experiencing wasn't quite so disgusting and wrong. He was desperate. He knew it deep down in his heart. He'd obtained this trait from his father, this yearning for acceptance and companionship. Though it had once been only a temporary feeling, centuries of the same lonely emotion had imprinted it deep in his father's mind, and made it a permanent part of him. And he'd passed it on to his offspring.  
  
Indeed, Junior was yearning. He was pining for friends, almost to a tragic point. It was low, yes. But so far, this was the only show of affection he'd seen in a long time. So, he again submitted. If it was what acceptation, then by God, he liked it.  
  
Before he could return the kiss, however, Piff pulled back, leaving him feeling a sudden cold, emptiness. An apologetic gaze was in his eyes, mournful and full of remorse. Junior was bewildered, and hurt. What exactly was going on?  
  
He looked around him for answers. Smug grins replaced the once painfully serious faces around him. All were staring at him, faces mocking. He felt like crying again. He turned to Piff, eyes searching. But, the boy gave him nothing. He was suddenly alone. Abandoned again.  
  
Suddenly, the tight circle began to loosen, until a break in the crowd appeared in front of them. In the opening stood a girl, grinning sadistically from ear to ear. Her hair was a fiery red, tamed only by a navy blue tie that held it back in a ponytail. Freckles peppered her cheeks and nose, dark against her pale skin. Her dark blue eyes focused on Piff, completely blanking Junior out of the scene. She looked so familiar . . .  
  
"Wonderful performance," she exclaimed loudly as she approached them, "I didn't think you'd have the guts, Piff." She stopped a few feet from them, giving Junior a disgusted look. That sneer, that look of superiority . . . where had he. . . ?  
  
Then he remembered. She was another survivor from winter's camp. Mindy, they called her. Snobbish, arrogant, overly confident in her own sexiness. Hardly an attractive personality. And yet, everyone loved her, with the exception of Mandy. She /was/ popular. She oozed popularity. And everyone wanted to be a part of her twisted circle of friends.  
  
"As a symbol of your previous social status, we have these wonderfully costumed individuals here." With a swift sweep of her hand, she motioned to the darkly dressed folk surrounding them. "In order to become a part of us, you must, as they say, 'cast off' your former darkness." As she spoke, the people shed their black garments, tossing them indifferently into the nearby waste pile, revealing the usual school uniform beneath. "We hate people like you," Mindy continued, her eyes glinting with repressed anger, "So stoic, so utterly depressing, writing poetry and drawing . . ." she spat on the ground, grimacing, "Hate you. So, there's no more of that here. Pastel colors. Pink, preferably."  
  
Piff twitched slightly at this. She noticed.  
  
"IS there a problem?" she asked, voice soft and dangerous. Without waiting for a response, she added, "I didn't think so. So, no more of . . . this." She pointed lightly to his deep purple hair, as if a full gesture might contaminate her. "I don't like it. Or that stupid hat." Again, a half- executed reference to it. "We provide one for you."  
  
With a swift snap of her fingers, one of the nameless children surrounding them approached, bearing a comically tall hat, pink and dotted with smiley faces. Piff looked at it with despair as it was offered to him. Quietly, he accepted it, slowly bringing it down upon his head. His other hat, the black artistic-looking one, fell to the ground, forgotten.  
  
Junior couldn't believe what was happening. He'd just been used. Used as an initiation, to make sure Piff really wanted to join. A dare, of sorts. He felt like a puppy who'd just been kicked. Piff never really wanted to be friends. If not for this . . . club, he probably wouldn't have even spoken to him. He felt like someone had just ripped his heart from his chest, and thrown it on the ground to be trodden upon. He was a nobody.  
  
Mindy was grinning sinisterly again as she watched Piff accept the horrid- looking hat. She paused, finally acknowledging Junior for the first time. "You can leave now," she sneered sharply, making a sweeping motion with her hand as if swatting away a bug. And that was it. His part had finished. That was all he'd been wanted for.  
  
Tears springing to his eyes, Junior turned on his heel and ran. Ran as far away as he could. As he stumbled away, he heard Mindy's snobby voice, smugly stating: "Welcome to I.C.U.P, Piff!"  
  
Then her voice trailed off as the distance between them increased. Junior was quietly sobbing, the suppressed tears escaping. He hated everything.  
  
--~~*~~--  
  
I'm a bad person.  
  
--~~*~~--  
  
Well, there it is. As usual, terribly lazy in the end. All those days spent, considering and thinking. . . for this pathetic thing? Gah. I need to work more. Stop with the lazy. Gar. Where's my usual obsession? I'm falling apart!  
  
Oh yeah. Summary for the homophobic. =P  
  
Okay. Well, Piff took Jr. out back behind the cafeteria, to the hang out of a club. . . thing. He kissed him as a way of proving how desperately he wanted to join. Junior thinks it's real affection, and is hurt when he realizes it's not. This club Piff so desperately wants into is "I.C.U.P", the club of Mindy. She hates dark people, so Piff has to abandon his "former darkness" and embrace the ugly pink hat. Grr. I hate that hat. She tells Junior to leave, and he does. he runs and runs and gets all angsty and teary again.  
  
Yes. Why is the summary better than the story itself? CURSES! Well, there ya go. Geeze, overly-sensitive people. I swear, the actual kiss isn't muhc more graphic than the summary's interpretation of it. Ah, well.  
  
Next chapter soon. It's gonna be fun writing Nergal! ^^  
  
Grr! I hate myself. Me and my laziness and long notes. Review, please. 


	5. Mouthing Off Is Bad

Well, it hasn't been /too/ long since I updated this, now has it? Thanks to my "new" beta Cyber Ghost. She was new waaaay back when I originally wrote this chapter. But now I suppose she isn't. Yeah. Okay. More Junior- angsting, coming right up!

* * *

The rest of the day would only be recalled as a long blur of pain.  
  
The teacher's lessons seemed to stretch for years, her voice a dull drone in Junior's head. He paid little attention to what she was saying, choosing to instead wallow in a vat of self-pity. He poked a pencil around on his desk with one hand, the other cupping his chin, propped up on his elbow. He was deep in pensive thought, mulling over the previous events of the day.  
  
Through the soft cloud of musings, he could hear children whispering all around him, his paranoia leading him to believe that every conversation involved negative comments about him. He winced, curling up in his seat and trying to become less noticeable. Why? Why did everyone hate him so?  
  
Junior clenched his fists tightly, abandoning his pencil to fold his arms rigidly against himself. He just wanted the day to be over. He was sick of the school already. No one liked him. Everyone was out to hurt him, to bring him down. He felt, deep down in his greenish colored organs, that he'd never fit in with anyone. He convinced himself he was fated to be an outcast for eternity. Everyone else seemed to think so. Why shouldn't he?  
  
A sharp, brief pain in the back of his neck dragged him from his thoughts. He dared to bring a stiff arm away from his sides to investigate. Fingers wandering, he found a small, untwisted paper clip buried in the folds of his collar. Turning his head ever so slightly, he glanced briskly out of the corner of his eye to the children seated behind him.  
  
A large, broad shouldered boy caught his gaze, a sneer upon his shapeless face. "What are you looking' at, freak?" he hissed sharply, flicking another paperclip in Junior's direction. The son of Nergal winced, turning abruptly to face forward again. The little clip hit the back of his ear with deadly accuracy, and Junior couldn't hold back a soft yelp of surprise and pain.  
  
The classroom fell into silence, and the teacher turned around fiercely, dropping her pointer with an ear-splitting crack to glare at him. Junior felt embarrassment burning his cheeks, and he sunk lower into his chair, wishing he could just disappear.  
  
"Junior," she stated angrily, purple veins making themselves known in her already tight neck, "Please try to keep the noise /to a minimum!/" She stressed the last words almost painfully, indication that she may have mentioned it some time before.  
  
Embarrassment stemmed into anger, and Junior found himself equally pissed.  
  
"I didn't do anything," he said tersely, voice soft and low, "At least not anything that could've possibly been disruptive enough to hinder your lesson."  
  
The teacher's wrinkled brow twitched, her mouth puckering. "... what was that?" she hissed, her voice gaining a hard note, equally dangerous A ripple of "ooo's" washed through the classroom, daring Junior to continue. He frowned, suddenly feeling intimidated.  
  
"...nothing..." he muttered angrily, swinging his eyes to the ground. But his teacher refused to let this one go. She strode swiftly from the front of the classroom to Junior's desk, a multitude of eyes following her. Bending lightly over him, huge golden hoop earrings dangling in his face, she repeated herself.  
  
"What did you say, Junior?" Her breath was sour and hot on his face. "If it was a threat..." She let her own warning hover. Silence followed, thick and heavy as a quilt. Everyone appeared to be holding their breath, although a select few dared to whisper their predictions to each other.  
  
Finally, Junior raised his lime-green eyes to meet her pruned-up ones. He narrowed them, his lip curling slightly to reveal his yellowish fangs.  
  
"I was merely expressing my sudden pain," he said carefully, slowly. "I... I'm sorry you're so intent on impaling our small minds with meaningless information that you cannot tolerate even the smallest of noises."  
  
She seemed a bit taken back by the cold sharpness of his words, her back straightening suddenly. When she finally recovered, she was literally shaking with anger.  
  
"This 'meaningless information' is what's going to get you graduated from high school, young man. This 'meaningless information' is what's going to help you get a job. This 'meaningless information' is what's going to help you make something out of your otherwise pathetic adult life!" She was all but screaming. "If I'm 'impaling your mind so intently', then why don't you take your pain stricken self out of here, right to the principal's office? You have no right to speak to me so disrespectfully!"  
  
"I was only telling you the truth," Junior responded softly, once again lowering his frown to the carpeting.  
  
"To the office!" she repeated sternly, stabbing a finger towards the door. He stood up slowly, his eyes still glued to the ground, and silently made his way out of the classroom. With him washed out the dark, uncomfortable cloud of hostility, and the class slowly returned to normal.  
  
"Jerk," a blonde haired girl muttered, receiving a few laughs and murmurs of agreement.

* * *

Every tick the clock sounded seemed to be amplified to a clap of thunder in the dead silence. Its blank white face leered down on the empty room, smug in its holier than thou positioning high on the wall. No witty, pro- education posters were tacked to the gray walls in the room. Only glossy wooden plaques proudly bearing golden words of the school's achievements.  
  
Junior shifted nervously in the cushioned stool outside the door to the principal's office, his eyes restless. Twice his foot slipped from the bar connecting the two legs of the chair, his boots thumping loudly against the floor and making him wince, despite himself. He anxiously scanned the room, searching for a distraction from the sickening bile squirming around in his stomach.  
  
Trophies littered one desk in the far right corner, opposite the one Junior occupied. A large picture window poured sunlight down upon them, their carefully polished surfaces gleaming majestically with pride. Above them were many framed certificates of greatness, bearing spidery blue designs around their boarders and bold, capital letters proclaiming the school's wonderful education program.  
  
The school was bloated with it's own thoughts of greatness, so sickeningly conceited in itself. It was no place of such excellence. It was Hell. Not in a literal sense, as Hell wasn't such a bad place, at least not for him. Maybe for the damned human souls it was, but for the son of Nergal this school was his damnation.  
  
He slowly scanned over each item in the cold, emotionally empty room. Display cases, bookshelves, abandoned secretary desks... file cabinets, announcement system... all dead. Nothing in the room felt alive. No source of comfort was made for him. Only icy cold rejection.  
  
Beyond the door, he could hear the conversation between his parents and the principal, although the thick wall muffled their voices, distorting them to mere hums. The principal's voice was a deep, droning rumble, his words slurring into each other. His father's was also deep, but powerful, not dull. His mother's, a monotone rasp.  
  
Junior could almost hear the sympathy and remorse in the principal's mumblings. He winced, curling his fingers tightly into the wood of the chair. What were they talking about? Could someone have reported his incident with Piff? Surely his father wouldn't be pleased with such an act. It was too desperate, too low, even for the lonely god.  
  
Frustration and impatience flooded through Junior's chest, tightening it to an uncomfortable level of tension. He could feel his tentacles pressing through his skin and against the fabric of his clothes, yearning to make themselves known. He was forced to swallow his paranoia, smother his guilt so as to keep the extra appendages in check. Slowly, he felt them drawing themselves back in, slick and poreless against his human flesh.  
  
He sighed heavily, trying to focus his mind on other things. If he allowed himself to get too emotional, he could become quite... destructive. It had been proven before. He narrowed his eyes at the ground, painful memories of winter camp surfacing again. How foolish he'd been. How weak. How gullible. And he still hadn't learned.

* * *

Yay. Does anyone even visit this section anymore? 


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